Not good enough
by OtterAndTerrier
Summary: Hermione Granger during her friendless months in her first year at Hogwarts.


Another story written for Ollivander's Challenge at Tumblr; the prompt is in the description because I'm original like that. Thanks again to jenahid for the beta work, and I hope you enjoy it. Reviews are always appreciated :D

Edit: Sorry, sorry, sorry that this stupid site ate my marks. I will stick to the horizontal lines in the future.

* * *

**Not good enough**

The alarm clock rang, eliciting two identically annoyed groans from the other beds. Her classmates' clocks still had ten more minutes before they rang as one, but Hermione Granger needed the extra time. Once the other girls got up, she would have to queue for the bathroom, endure their pointed questions about why she was reading before the classes even started and generally pretend like they hadn't instantly bonded and left Hermione out.

Hermione muttered an apology and got out of bed, pushing the curtains aside. A week later, her surroundings still felt strange to her, as if she had landed in another time: aging wooden furniture, cold stone walls, lit sconces on the walls instead of light bulbs. There were still times when she would walk into the dormitory and grope for a switch on the wall, even when the candles were already casting a soft glow. Hermione often wondered who was in charge of lighting their fireplaces and candles, and keeping the place tidied-up; she'd never seen any adults going in or out of Gryffindor Tower, not even Professor McGonagall. She had tried asking the other girls, but they had just shrugged.

Lavender and Parvati weren't unfriendly or rude to her, Hermione thought as she got her things ready for her morning routine and headed to the tower's bathroom. They were simply not interested in being friends with her. They often talked to her, but she knew that she would never be part of their clique.

And things like the cleaning of the tower were not curiosities to them; they had grown up with magic. When they received their acceptance letters from Hogwarts, they had probably been happy, as they were expecting them. McGonagall hadn't appeared on their doorsteps and started talking about magic, boarding schools in Scotland and shops that sold books about sorcery hidden in the heart of London. Their parents may have simply smiled and helped them pack their trunks.

Hermione's parents had been a whole different story. While they knew that she could do things that other people couldn't, the idea of it being a special ability that their only daughter needed to go to a boarding school for seven years to learn how to use upset them at first. She had already been pre-enrolled in a prestigious secondary school that had a waiting list of three years.

As Hermione walked down the staircase to the common room with her books, she felt a light pang of pain at the memory of her parents. It wasn't really that she missed them—of course, she did miss them, but it had felt good to be off on her own for once. What she missed the most was having someone she could have a conversation with. Something that, so far, she hadn't found here. The Gryffindor group of first years was rather small, compared to her class in her former school. Besides the girls, there was Seamus and Dean, who were like the male counterparts of Lavender and Parvati: loud, chatty, and at that stage when talking with the opposite sex made them awkward. Hermione didn't find them of particular interest.

Then there was Neville: he had been in the first relatively empty compartment she came across after saying goodbye to her parents and getting on the Hogwarts Express, desperately pushing his trunk to and fro in search of his toad. Hermione had went out to help him find it, and when she'd come back, other kids had filled the place. She had sat there nonetheless, listening and trying to engage in conversation, but Neville soon wandered off into the bathroom and everyone had started to get too loud for her taste. Neville was kind to her, but he always seemed almost afraid to speak to Hermione.

The last two of her classmates were Harry and Ron. Their compartment was the one she had sought after coming back from the front of the train to find that her seat had been taken, again. The two of them went everywhere together once at Hogwarts, but they hadn't warmed up to Hermione in the slightest. Funnily enough, if she'd had to pick a clique to be a part of from the ones that had formed in her year, she would probably pick them. Harry was _the_ Harry Potter. The fact that he hadn't known that his name appeared in more than one book baffled her. The books didn't mention where he had grown up after his parents had been murdered. She assumed he'd been living with relatives, and that they had to be Muggles—such a strange word to her, still—as it was the only explanation to this boy's obliviousness. She found that both exasperating and humbling. On one hand, she could not understand how someone who didn't have any prior understanding of magic could come to Hogwarts without having opened a single book. But at the same time, she thought that made Harry an unusual kind of hero. He didn't strut around like he owned the place, for one, like so many others did without having half the right of it.

Harry didn't pay her much attention, but at least he wasn't pointedly rude at her, like Ron Weasley. He always strived to make it clear that her company was unwanted. She wasn't intimidated by his attitude; it wasn't as if she hadn't heard worse before.

Hermione was startled at the sound of voices: the tower seemed to stir as the rest of the Gryffindors finally woke up. She had managed to read three pages of theory for the Fire-Making Spell. It was pointless to keep at it now, she decided, and upon closing her book, Hermione went up once again to collect the rest of her things before heading to breakfast.

One of their morning classes for the day was Transfiguration, which was shaping up to be her favourite. If she was being honest, Hermione thought all of her lessons were fascinating in one way or another, and in fact, she'd rather be in class than anywhere else. With the exception of the library, where she could study in silence at leisure, her classes were the only place where she didn't have to worry about not having friends.

She liked History of Magic because she didn't know about the history of wizards and the magical world more than what she had managed to read before coming to Hogwarts. Defence Against the Dark Arts felt somewhat ominous, especially the way Professor Quirrell talked about even the less dangerous creatures, like gnomes, but they learned useful spells. Herbology was essential to Potions, and she thought both were interesting, too... except for Professor Snape. He was the rudest teacher she had ever encountered. The only subject that seemed rather pointless in Hermione's opinion was Astronomy, but she loved Charms and Transfiguration, and she tried her hardest to excel at both.

Today, they had to prove they had been practising the spell to turn matches into needles—all except for Hermione, who had succeeded to do so during their first class.

After lunch, though, first-year Gryffindors and Slytherins had their first Flying lesson. This was a prospect that didn't excite Hermione at all. She had never been good at sports, only attending skiing and skating lessons during the holidays at her parents' request. Clutching to a stick of wood several feet above the ground seemed even more unstable. She was rather sure that was an aspect of the Wizarding world she wasn't ready to embrace.

Since there was no way around it, she had decided to take a book about flying out of the library—all she had found was one about Quidditch—and she'd read it carefully before going to bed the night before. Flying was the talk of first years that morning at breakfast, but all she heard from Muggle-borns was how eager they were, and from those who came from Wizarding families, how amazing it felt to be airborne. There was no one she could relate to, with the exception of Neville (he was the only one who looked as uneasy as she felt about their new subject); even Lavender and Parvati seemed to find broomsticks glamorous.

Hermione had tried to join in her classmates' chatting with the only thing she had: book theory. Since nobody had satisfactorily answered her questions on the mechanics and safety of broom-flying, she'd thought they would appreciate the extra information. What she received instead was weird looks and awkward silences, until she was interrupted by the owls bringing in their mail.

She quickly closed her book, then, and looked down at the porridge she was eating. Her parents hadn't consented in buying her an owl, arguing that she could use the school birds McGonagall had told them about until she had learned more about proper care and handling. Hermione had written home to let them know of their safe arrival after her first day of school, and again during the weekend, but her parents weren't yet familiar with owl messaging. She knew she wasn't getting anything today, so it was best to ignore everyone's cries of delight at news from home.

* * *

Hermione felt herself shaking with fear that night, as she struggled to regain her breath, her heart thumping wildly against her chest, but she let her emotions out in the form of anger, which she also had aplenty.

She had only been trying to help, to be a good classmate—but no, her help was always unwanted. Harry and Ron's obstinacy to look for trouble had dragged her and Neville along in a mad race away from Filch that had almost culminated in their death at the jaws of a giant monster. As she sat in the Common Room with the others, she was more scared to think of what would have happened to her if they had been expelled. Ron and Neville came from Wizarding families: their parents would have probably been disappointed, but they would still get to grow up with magic, surrounded by people like themselves. And Harry was a hero; she was positive that he wouldn't be expelled just like that. Hermione, though, had more at stake. What would become of her if she had to go back home, away from the world where she had been promised she wouldn't feel like such a stranger?

Her thoughts came spilling out as she stood up, ready to put this night behind.

'I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed—or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed,' she said, and marched up the stairs to the girls' dormitory.

The next day, she was still shaken at how close she'd been to expulsion. She was determined to stay, and decided that it was best for that purpose to stay away from Harry and Ron. _They_ didn't look regretful in the slightest at their little night stroll, almost pleased with themselves, she thought.

However, when she departed the Great Hall after breakfast, she found herself directly behind the two of them on the marble staircase. Harry was holding a long package she had seen delivered to him at the table.

'If he hadn't stolen Neville's Remembrall I wouldn't be on the team...' Harry was saying, laughing.

'So I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking rules?' she said angrily in spite of herself.

'I thought you weren't speaking to us?'

'Yes, don't stop now, it's doing us so much good.'

She couldn't _believe_ them! As she stomped away, she thought of how ungrateful they were. They had been given the opportunity to study at Hogwarts; they had instantly found a friend in each other; they had eluded death and expulsion on the same day—twice, in the case of Harry Potter—and they _still_ thought that it was all good fun and games?

They probably didn't know, or cared, how privileged they were compared to her. Why would they care? Hermione was on her own, and as such, she wouldn't care about anyone else from this day forth.

* * *

Hermione's twelfth birthday fell a week after their first Flying lesson. During breakfast, she hoped against hope that an owl would swoop in front of her plate with at least a letter, but it was in vain. Her parents had already given her presents before she departed, as they wouldn't have means to send them later: a book out of her school list that she'd wanted at Flourish and Blotts, _Hogwarts, A History_. She was sure to get the rest of her presents from her grandparents once she went home for Christmas break… but today, she had nothing.

That was why she decided to have an hour off after Flying—which had picked up where they'd left after Neville's incident—and resume her reading of _Hogwarts, a History_ in a secluded spot in the courtyard. Nobody paid her any mind; half an hour later, she spotted Hagrid, the gamekeeper, making his way to the castle with big strides. Here and there he looked, waving and smiling at familiar faces. At one point his gaze wandered to where Hermione sat before looking away; then he seemed to notice there was indeed a person sitting there alone, for he looked again and walked straight to Hermione.

'An' what is yer doin' there, all by yerself?' he said amiably.

'Oh… just reading,' she replied, smiling shyly up at him. In spite of his appearance, she thought Hagrid only look huge and terrifying from afar; when he was up close, he always had a smile and a wink for everyone. Because he wasn't a teacher, though, Hermione only ever saw him passing by, or tending to his orchard at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

'Hm.' Hagrid pushed his gigantic coat out of the way and crouched with a grunt, to be at head level with Hermione, even though he still couldn't accomplish that. 'Are yeh havin' a nice time here at Hogwarts?'

'Yes,' she hurried to reply. 'I'm learning a lot. Thank you.'

Hagrid kept looking at her curiously.

'It's just tha' yeh look a bit sad there. Yeh sure yer all righ'?'

Hermione opened her mouth to say yes again, but she stopped. It was nice that someone had noticed her and asked about her well-being; wasn't somebody to talk to what she craved the most?

'Well, it's only that… today is my birthday,' she started. 'But my parents don't know how to send mail by owl yet, and I haven't made…' She had been about to say "I haven't made any friends", but she thought that was a bit pathetic to admit to an adult. Instead she said, 'And no one here knows about it.'

'Muggle parents, eh?' he said, mercifully ignoring the second part of her statement. 'Don' worry, they be gettin' the gis' o' it soon enough.' Hermione nodded, only half believing him. 'Tell yeh wha', if yer ever feelin' lonely, yeh come have tea wi' me, all righ'?'

'That'd be great, Hagrid. Thank you,' she said, feeling more grateful as she watched him go than she'd felt in a long time.

That night at dinner, a single owl flew in and landed in front of her at the table. It was a birthday card, from Hagrid.

* * *

The rest of September and all October were as uneventful as one could hope in a school of magic, which roughly meant no near-death experiences. Hermione hadn't called on Hagrid, but she had written him to thank him for his card. She was starting to feel better, even if not truly at home yet, keeping busy as much as she could. Sometimes she still felt the need to have someone, like she'd had Amanda back at home. Amanda and Rachel had been her two best friends since first grade. In third grade, Rachel decided she wanted different friends. Coincidentally, it had happened around the time when Hermione had first showed signs of magic, although she didn't know what it was. Once, walking down the hallway at school, they passed Rachel and her new group by, and she heard very clearly the word 'freak'.

Amanda had continued to be friends with Hermione. They were very similar, and Amanda didn't find the things Hermione could do as weird or terrifying. They would often go to see a movie or a play together, with each other's families, and stay for sleepovers afterwards. But when the summer after fifth grade came, Amanda changed, too. Hermione's magic wouldn't show except in special circumstances, but it still did, and Amanda would often ask if she'd ever seen a doctor about that, or if she could do things at will. They barely saw each other until the beginning of sixth grade, and their friendship had practically evaporated by the end of it. She had been alone ever since.

Hermione was in a different place now, with people who were like her, and her priority was to make sure she wasn't wasting her chance. Perhaps it was for the better that she didn't have friends to distract her from what was important—friends that would lead to her expulsion, for example, like Harry and Ron would have.

She was particularly excited on the last day of October: they were finally performing the Levitation Spell, which Hermione had been practising without her wand ever since Professor Flitwick mentioned it. There was also a Halloween feast later, if what she'd heard was true.

Her excitement, however, was short lived. Professor Flitwick decided to pair them up for the exercise, and it was just her luck that he chose Ron Weasley to work with her. It was as if two months of magical education hadn't changed the boy who had been trying to colour his rat yellow on the Hogwarts Express. Ron had started first on the spell, and as the task required, Hermione was supposed to watch and learn or give useful advice. She soon lost her temper.

'You're saying it wrong,' she snapped, after almost getting caught in the eye by Ron's incorrect wand movement. 'It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long.'

'You do it, then, if you're so clever,' he barked back.

With a swish and flick, the feather rose and floated gracefully in the air at her command. Hermione was more than pleased to see that she hadn't wasted her time practising. Even though she hid it from the rest, she still was amazed every time magic came out of her wand, something that, prior to coming to Hogwarts, had been only the stuff of fairy tales and movies.

Professor Flitwick was delighted, but Ron didn't take the critique well. He lapsed into a sullen silence and didn't so much as look at her for the rest of the class. She didn't mind; it was better than hearing his snarky remarks. Hermione didn't pay him any mind, only relishing her success, until class was dismissed and she found herself once again behind Harry and Ron on their way out.

'It's no wonder no one can stand her,' Ron was saying, 'she's a nightmare, honestly.'

All of her excitement and the determination not to let anyone deter her that she had built during the past two months fell into a puddle at her feet. The tears that she hadn't allowed to fall since the moment she stepped on King's Cross came now unbidden to her eyes, her face feeling flustered. She needed to get away from them.

She pushed past several people without even knowing where her feet were taking her, but she finally made it into one of the girls' bathrooms. There, she locked herself into a stall and sank to the floor.

How could have she been so deluded, thinking she didn't care about the fact that everybody seemed to hate her? She had honestly believed that this was a fresh start, where she would meet her true peers, and that they would like her. It was too good to be real: no matter where she went, she was still Hermione, the girl that didn't fit. Her mum used to tell her that she didn't have to change who she was to make anybody like her. If she hadn't found true friends yet, it was simply that she hadn't happened to meet them.

But her mum wasn't here, and maybe she wasn't right. Maybe Hermione _was_ the problem. She didn't want to change, but even if she had, she wouldn't have known how. How could you know what the problem was if you didn't have friends who told you, but who loved you nonetheless?

All the pain that she had buried deep inside came flooding while she sat there. She knew she was going to miss Transfiguration, but she couldn't bring herself to face her classmates and have them suspect what a mess she'd been.

The hours crept by, and she guessed she had missed lunch and Flying lessons as well, but Hermione didn't care. She wasn't hungry, and she was a failure at flying. They had one more class left, but she found she didn't care about that, either. She didn't know what she was supposed to do. The fear of being expelled that she'd felt the night Filch had almost caught them out of bed materialized once again as a fear of rejection. Even if she went seven years without getting in trouble enough as to be expelled, she would always be rejected by her classmates, never good enough for anyone.

Groups of girls came and left the bathroom at times; Hermione held her breath and stifled her sobs until she heard their sounds fading away. At one point, a single pair of footsteps surprised her sniffling, and stood outside her stall.

'Hermione?' Parvati Patil's voice came through the door. 'Are you okay? We wondered where you'd left, you missed Transfiguration!'

'Yes—yes, I'm fine, Parvati,' Hermione managed to say after a moment. She couldn't help but hearing as if she was an outsider how sad her voice sounded.

'Don't you want to come down for the feast? Everything looks amazing!'

'I don't think so. I just want to be alone for a while.'

Parvati murmured an uncertain 'I'll see you later, then,' and left at last, leaving Hermione alone with her thoughts again.

Her visit had a rippling effect on Hermione, though. She had been nice to her. Even if they didn't want to be friends with her, Parvati and Lavender didn't laugh behind her back. The others hadn't, either. It had only been Ron, an eleven-year-old boy. One day, he would grow up and realize of how stupid he'd been, or maybe he wouldn't. In the meantime, she could not afford to miss hours of classes because of what others thought of her. She wouldn't give them that pleasure. Hermione _belonged_ here. She wasn't staying at Hogwarts because she had no other place to go; she would stay because she wanted to.

She would show them her worth; she would come out of the bathroom walking with her head high. And maybe one day, she would find friends who appreciated her just as she was.


End file.
